


Star-Crossed

by LadyKarai



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis, 奋斗吧少年! | The Prince of Tennis (TV 2019)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Curses, Japanese and Chinese Names, M/M, Magic, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKarai/pseuds/LadyKarai
Summary: Every night since he turned sixteen, Kikumaru Eiji dreamed he was someone else. When he loses everything at twenty-one, he despairs of ever finding happiness, but new friends and a new home give him new hope. If only there were some way he could contact the root of all his problems and the foundation of all his joy: his Oishi.Every night since he was sixteen, Chi Dayong dreamed he was someone else. He never believed in magic or psychics, but as his best friend says, the universe is larger than any of them know. Armed with the goal of joining his friends in space, his sights are focused on one objective and one objective only: find Jiale.A story of soulmates separated by an ocean of stars.
Relationships: Bái Shìtíng/Tián Zǐlóng, Chí Dàyǒng/Táng Jiālè, Fuji Shuusuke/Tezuka Kunimitsu, Kikumaru Eiji/Ooishi Shuuichirou, Mù Sīyáng/Zhuó Zhì (Prince of Tennis 2019), Sanada Genichirou/Yukimura Seiichi, Sengoku Kiyosumi/OC
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this story used to be a one-shot and has now been replaced by the multi-chapter. Enjoy! :)

  
Kikumaru Eiji was sixteen when the dreams started. At first, he thought it was his overactive imagination having fun with him subconsciously, but as the months went on and the dreams did not stop, he began to worry. Only a little bit, though, or so he told himself. It wasn’t as if they were anything interesting. He dreamed about normal life: school, family, friends. It was just that he was never himself. He was always someone else.

The same someone else. Every time.

After six months, he told his family. It would have been cruel not to. His mother cried, and his siblings all agreed that it just wasn’t fair for this to happen to him, the baby. One of his brothers even floated the idea of trying to hide it, but Eiji shut that down immediately. Instead he suggested that maybe it wasn’t really anything to worry about. They were just dreams, and they were _boring_. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it wouldn’t count.

That thought kept him going as the years passed. He went to school, played sports, hung out with his friends, all with the attitude that everything was completely normal. He even managed to convince his parents to let him go to college. The dreams still hadn’t stopped, but they seemed so unimportant. Of course he would be able to get a degree and then a job and eventually have a family and a normal life like everyone else. It didn’t matter that when he closed his eyes at night, he was able to watch through someone else’s eyes as he also went to school, played sports, hung out with friends, spent time with family … .

The day before Eiji’s twenty-first birthday, he packed an overnight bag and said goodbye to his roommate with the promise that they would get food and study for next week’s test when he got back. A few hours on the bus took him back to his hometown where his father picked him up. They hugged warmly, both hiding the nervousness in their faces over the other’s shoulder. Everything would be okay, Eiji told himself as he got into the passenger’s seat of the family car. The dreams were nothing. He was fine. Everything was fine.

If he had trouble falling asleep that night, it was certainly because of the big dinner his mother had forced on him and not because he was scared.

The following morning, Eiji awoke and lay in his bed for a long time, just staring at the ceiling. He felt numb inside, unable to think or feel a thing. He wasn’t even scared anymore. He just … was. It felt like standing before a guillotine or a firing line. There wasn’t anything he could do. There was no time remaining. He was twenty-one.

Carefully, he pushed himself out of bed and crossed to his dresser where his mother had left him a mirror. He picked it up with his right hand and raised it to eye level to study his reflection. His face looked exactly the same as it always had with the exception of his eyes. Those looked dead. It didn’t surprise him.

Exhaling gently, he replaced the mirror. Next would be to check his body. He would need to call his father to help him check his back, but almost everything else he could do himself. His hands moved to the bottom of his nightshirt and began to lift it over his head, but before he had exposed even half of his chest, he stopped. The sleeves of his shirt had pulled back a bit as he had moved, exposing his wrists and a bit of the skin underneath.

Eiji stared in growing horror at his left wrist and the small arc of dark color that he could see poking out from under his sleeve.

“No,” he whispered as his entire body suddenly ran cold. “No, please.”

As if moving on their own, the fingers of his right hand grasped the fabric at his left wrist and began to pull up towards his elbow. For the briefest second, his hand blocked his view of his skin and let him continue to believe that it wasn’t true, because how could it possibly be true? They were dreams! Meaningless, stupid, boring dreams! They didn’t mean anything!

And yet there it was, solid like a dark brand against the skin just below his wrist. A circle of twisting vines with the symbol inside that proclaimed his status for everyone to see.

“No ...” Eiji whined, his eyes filling with hot tears as his heart began to crumble. And then, he fell to his knees, threw his head back, and howled as despair crashed over him like a drowning wave.

Both of his parents flew in moments later, and it took only one look for them to join him on the floor, holding him tightly and wailing. For five years, they had all hoped and prayed as hard as they could that this day would never come. Because Eiji was their sunlight, their joy, their smiling, dazzling boy who brought light wherever he went. But in spite of it all, it had come. It had come to darken the rest of their lives.

Because Eiji was Cursed.

xXx

Chi Dayong sat up abruptly, one hand clutching at the fabric over his heart. His breath came fast, and he could feel a few beads of sweat dripping down his forehead as he cast his eyes about, trying to regain awareness of his surroundings. He was in his dorm room, on his bed. That’s right, he had lain down for a short nap after class and before dinner. He had been asleep. And he had dreamed …

“Are you all right?”

He turned his head to see his roommate, Mu Siyang, gazing at him from his desk with a hint of concern in his eyes.

“Yes,” Dayong replied with as much of a smile as he could muster. “I’m fine. Just had a nightmare.”

“Mm,” Siyang replied, turning back to his homework. Dayong thought that would be the end of it, so his friend’s next words surprised him. “Want to talk about it?”

“I …” Dayong just stared for a moment, mouth slightly open, as Siyang appeared to ignore him. Someone who didn’t know him like Dayong did would have assumed that the tall young man had offered only out of obligation, but over the three years that they had been friends, Dayong had come to understand Siyang very well. He was quiet, reserved, and extremely dedicated to his dreams, almost obsessively so, but he wasn’t cold. Not to the people he cared about, among whom Dayong was very happy to count himself.

“I … Kind of. But …”

“But?” his roommate’s soft voice prompted after a long pause.

Dayong sighed and proceeded to pick at a loose thread on his bedspread. “But it’s a long story.”

Wood creaked gently as Siyang turned in his chair to give Dayong an appraising look. “Your nightmare is a long story?” he clarified.

“Yes,” Dayong answered miserably. “And I doubt you’ll believe me.”

That caused an eyebrow to lift on the other young man’s face. A moment later, Siyang had completely abandoned his homework and had turned to face Dayong fully, his arms crossed over his chest and his face expectant.

“Well,” Dayong began, “it started when I was sixteen. I go to bed at night and dream about being someone else. It doesn’t happen every night, but it happens often enough that I know it’s not normal.” His fingers dug a little harder into his bedspread at the admission. He hated the thought that there was something wrong with him; that was why he had hidden it for so long. “I thought at first that my mind was remembering a past life, or at least inventing one subconsciously, but it’s been going on for so long that I don’t know what to call it anymore. All I know is that for the past five years, sometimes when I sleep, I’m someone else. Someone about the same age as I am, a little shorter, a little skinnier, with a big family and a lot of friends. I know it sounds crazy,” he confessed, looking over at Siyang a little pleadingly, but his roommate’s expression had not changed. Siyang was not judging him in any way; he was simply listening.

Faced with that silence, Dayong could only continue. “Anyway, over the past month or so, I could feel that this other person has been getting anxious over something. And during my nap just now …” He trailed off and gazed up at the ceiling, trying to remember all the details. “He was at home, which was surprising since he’s supposed to be at school like we are. But he was at home, and he had just woken up, and there was this tattoo or something on his left wrist that hadn’t been there before.” A surge of pain gripped his chest as he thought of the emotions he had felt in that moment. Trying to keep his voice even, he finished, “I could feel his heart break when he saw it. It was like a death sentence or something. He was crying so hard, and I just … I wanted to …”

“Comfort him?” Siyang finished. When Dayong nodded silently, his friend’s lips lifted in a very small smile. “Of course,” he said with a hint of fondness. “Only you would want to comfort an imaginary person in your mind.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Dayong scolded with a frown.

“I’m not,” Siyang assured him gently. He leaned back in his chair a bit and adjusted his glasses. “I wonder what it all means.”

“I don’t know,” Dayong sighed. “I doubt it means anything.” Frustrated, he ran his right hand through his hair sharply and said, “I wish I knew what that mark meant, though. Why it upset him so much.”

Across the room, Siyang sucked a quick breath through his teeth, a sound so unlike him that Dayong immediately turned to look at him. His roommate’s expression had hardened into something that Dayong only ever saw when Siyang was talking about his future. The focus in his face was almost frightening.

“Dachi,” he said in a voice so controlled that Dayong shivered, “that mark. Did it have vines in it? Twisting together in an arc?”

Suddenly excited, Dayong leaned forward as he replied, “It did, yes! Have you seen it before? Do you know what it means?”

His friend shook his head minutely. “No.”

Dayong deflated. “Oh. Well then, how did you know -- ?”

Siyang stood and, with purposeful strides, crossed the room to sit next to Dayong on his bed. He took Dayong’s right arm firmly in one hand, and, keeping his eyes fixed on Dayong’s face, used his other hand to push the sleeve backwards up his arm.

Dayong’s heart stopped. His lungs froze. He felt like he was suffocating.

“I didn’t put that there!” he shrieked once he could find the breath to speak. “It wasn’t me!”

“I know,” Siyang answered him calmly. His eyes fell to the mark just below Dayong’s wrist, and he lightly traced the circle of vines with his thumb. “This symbol in the center looks logographic,” he commented, almost idly. “I don’t recognize the language, though.”

Dayong began to squeak. He was hyperventilating. He was going to pass out.

Siyang’s eyes flicked up to him in concern. “Dachi, calm down,” he ordered.

“Calm down?” Dayong demanded. “Calm down? I just had a nightmare about this … this death mark appearing on Jiale, and now it’s on me, too! How am I supposed to calm down?!”

“Is that his name?” Siyang asked, looking back down at the mark again. When Dayong didn’t answer, he put aside his interest for the moment and focused on his friend instead. “Breathe, Dachi,” he ordered, although his voice remained gentle. “It might be a death sentence in your dream partner’s culture, but it isn’t in ours. You’re fine. For all we know, he’ll be fine, too. There is nothing to freak out about.” When Dayong’s breathing began to even, he nodded and said, “Good. Now. What did you say his name was? Jiale?”

Dayong shook his head. “I … I don’t know what his name is. For some reason, as soon as I wake up, names and faces just evaporate out of my head. I’ve even tried putting a notebook next to the bed to try to write them down before they disappear, but it doesn’t work.” He paused for a deep breath before finishing, “Jiale is the name I gave him.”

“I see.”

“Siyang,” Dayong breathed, gazing pleadingly into his friend’s face, “what do I do?”

“What do you do?” Siyang echoed, holding his gaze firmly. “You switch majors.”

“What?”

“Or double major,” he added. “It doesn’t really matter. Either way, you need to study xenobiology.”

“Xenobiology?” Dayong parroted, but Siyang was already on his feet, fetching his phone from his desk. He returned quickly and began taking pictures of the mark on Dayong’s arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to run a reverse image search on this to see if we get any hits,” his friend answered evenly, “although I rather doubt we will. As far as I know, none of the Federation allies have registered any telepathic or psychic abilities in any of their species.”

“An alien,” Dayong whispered, the pieces finally clicking into place. “You think Jiale is an alien.” He paused for a moment longer, then cried, “You think I have a _psychic connection_ with an _alien!_ ”

“I think,” Siyang answered, turning to look at him with that intense focus that scared so many people who knew him, “that the universe is far larger than any of us can possibly imagine. I also think,” he added, turning away again, “that we should inform Zhiming of this.”

Dayong groaned. “Oh god, not Ah Yan. He’ll want to dissect me.”

“I won’t let him. Don’t worry.”

“I always worry.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But why xenobiology?” Dayong asked. As interesting as the subject was, he definitely preferred traditional medicine. Very few aliens visited Earth anyway, and he was certain none would ever show up at the practice he planned to open after he graduated.

But Siyang, as usual, had everything already perfectly planned out in his head. “Because my ship will need a doctor,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “When I go out into space, I’ll take you with me.” And before Dayong could reply, his roommate and best friend turned his head and smiled. “Don’t you want to find him?”

Never had Dayong considered going into space. That was Siyang’s dream, not his. But as he looked at the mark on his arm that had appeared out of nowhere and thought of the young man in his dreams and the strange connection they shared, something shifted. His goals moved, reformed, and realigned. In one fluid movement, he swung his legs off his bed and stood.

“Yes,” he replied with confidence. “Yes, I do.”

xXx

Fuji Shuusuke was lying on his back in bed, listening to an audiobook through his headphones, when someone new came down the hall. He sat up immediately, one hand grasping for the tablet beside him.

“Stop playback,” he said and tore out his headphones just as the small party passed by his door in a tight line. He recognized the two guards on the end and their small, normal lights, but the man between them flared with a light that Shuusuke had only ever seen in one other. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Finally, another Cursed had come.

As quickly as he dared, Shuusuke stood from the bed and crossed the room, using the ficus by the door as his guide. When he was close enough, he extended a hand, finding the cold iron of the bars easily. He wrapped his hand around one of them and leaned in to get a better angle on the retreating men.

There was the Mark, on the middle man’s left wrist. And the familiar vein from the Mark to the core of his chest where the majority of his Power blazed. This Cursed had additional Power lines, though, snaking up both arms from wrist to shoulder. Shuusuke studied them as best he could from that distance. Neither he nor Yuuta had anything like that. Interesting.

The three men stopped, and one of them moved around a bit, likely opening a door from the sounds. A moment later, the other guard encouraged the Cursed man to enter with a firm hand on his back, and then more sounds to signify the closing and locking of both bars and door. So, Shuusuke thought as he slowly made his way back to his bed, not in the cell next to or across from his, but one down and one over. He supposed it made sense. They weren’t supposed to interact until they went into Exile.

Still, Shuusuke never really cared much about what he was “supposed” to do.

Rather than sit on the bed, he found the wall with a hand and then leaned up against it below the barred window. Reaching out with his Power, he summoned a breeze to him and used it to send a soft whistle to the floor above. A moment later, a returning whistle floated to his ears on another soft gust of wind.

“How are you doing?” he asked the wind, sending his words flying. “Eating enough? Getting enough sleep?”

“What do you _want_ , Shuu?” his little brother’s annoyed voice snapped at him. “I’ve told you not to bother me for stupid things!”

Shuusuke chuckled to himself. He did so love to rile Yuuta up. “I just saw something very interesting,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice.. “Guess what it was.”

“I am not falling for that,” the reply came in a dry tone. “You’re blind.”

Shuusuke grinned. “That’s right,” he agreed, and the pitch of his voice dropped. “I am.”

Yuuta didn’t reply immediately, and when the wind brought his voice again, all the annoyance had disappeared. “Are you serious? Another Cursed came in?”

“Yes. Just now.”

“Huh. I was sure you were going to be the only one this year.”

Shuusuke flinched in spite of himself, and a familiar guilt began to churn in his gut. “I told you you should have waited,” he whispered into the wind.

“And I told _you_ ,” his brother shot back, “that my decision to go early had nothing to do with that.”

He doubted that strongly. His Mark had appeared right on time on his twenty-first birthday, and he had turned himself in the same morning so as to get the added perks that came with a voluntary surrender. Perks that included family visitation once a month. Yuuta had visited with the rest of his family, but after three months had gone by and Shuusuke was still the only Cursed for the year, Yuuta’s expression had turned worried. Two months later, and suddenly only his parents and sister were on the other side of the glass. Yuuta, they said, had turned himself in early, before his Mark had even appeared.

“I did it so you don’t make a huge name for yourself and then I get stuck being ‘Fuji Shuusuke’s little brother’ for the rest of my life,” Yuuta was continuing. “I got enough of that growing up. I’m not about to let it happen in Exile, too.”

“Yuuta …”

“It’s not like it matters. I’d just be here next year anyway. I might as well go now and end up on an even playing field with you for once.”

Shuusuke smiled. As much as he wished that his little brother had held onto his freedom for as long as he could, he had to admit that he was grateful to have him here. Exile didn’t seem so bad if it meant they would be together.

“I see,” he teased. “And here I thought it was because it meant you got that fancy suite all to yourself.”

The derisive snort that floated back to him made him grin. “It’s not that fancy.”

“It’s better than what I have,” Shuusuke countered. He sighed dramatically and added, “Maybe I should have turned myself in early, too.”

“As if you could have used half of this stuff, Mr. ‘My-Eyes-Only-See-The-Astral-Plane’.”

“Wait, Astral sight _doesn’t_ work on video games?”

The answering laughter that filled his ears warmed Shuusuke’s heart. “I should go,” he said sadly as the sound faded away. “My handler is due in a few minutes.”

“Mine, too,” Yuuta replied. “All right, I’ll talk to you later. Keep me updated on that other Cursed.”

“Of course,” Shuusuke smiled. And then, because he wouldn’t be an annoying older brother if he didn’t, he added, “Make sure you’re getting your beauty sleep.”

Yuuta didn’t reply, but Shuusuke didn’t need to hear the younger man’s grumbling to know that he was currently cursing the elder out directly above his head. He laughed to himself some more and finally sat down on the bed to wait. On a whim, he sent a wind underneath his door, down the hall, and then back, just to see if he would hear anything interesting.

The soft sound of crying returned to his ears. Shuusuke frowned, not expecting that. True, being forced to leave one’s family was a terrible thing, but that was what the five years between the onset of Power and the appearance of the Mark was for. Or, at least, that’s what everyone assumed since no one truly knew how it all worked. A Cursed had five years to prepare mentally, five years to say goodbye. Unless …

Shuusuke inhaled gently through his nose and let it out through his mouth. The day Yuuta had turned sixteen and they had realized that they had not one, but _two_ Cursed in their family, the brothers had embarked on a massive research project of everything that their world knew about the world they were destined to join. In doing so, they had learned that, in rare cases, a Cursed’s Power was so weak that he never noticed it until the Mark appeared. The man who had walked down the hall had not been weak, not by a longshot, but it was possible that there were other factors at play.

With a gentle wave of his hand, Shuusuke sent another gust down the hall and back. Those, he realized with a pang of sympathy, were the tears of a man who had thought he was safe and suddenly found out that he was not.

Engrossed as he was with his own thoughts, he completely missed his handler’s approach, only realizing she was there when he heard the outer door open. Quickly, he schooled his face into a bland smile.

“Good afternoon,” she said politely. The sounds of dishes clanking reached his ears as she retrieved his breakfast and replaced it with lunch. “How are your audiobooks? Do you require more?”

“No,” he replied. “Not yet.” He waited for her small sound of acknowledgement before asking, “The new arrival we got today, are you his handler as well?”

The small light of her life force, which had been swaying back and forth as her body moved, suddenly went still. Internally, Shuusuke grinned. He had suspected that he wasn’t supposed to know, although really there had been no way they could have hidden it from him.

“If you are,” he continued lightly, “you’re not doing a very good job. He sounds very upset.”

His handler resumed her movements, faster this time, and within a few seconds, she had presumably straightened into a polite waiting position. “Do you require anything else?” she asked, her voice even.

He didn’t know why, but something in the way she said that triggered a wave of anger inside Shuusuke’s heart. He had been there for nine months, Yuuta for four, and while the people who worked in this upscale prison were always respectful, it was clear that none of them actually gave a damn about the Cursed they tended. Up until now, Shuusuke hadn’t cared. He was strong enough to get along just fine, and he regularly checked up on Yuuta to make sure he was the same. But now, someone else was here, someone like him, like Yuuta. Someone who needed help where none would be found.

Carefully, he rose and took a few steps towards the door. “Yes,” he said in response to his handler’s question, “I do. I would like to speak with the man who came in today.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Her voice was tight now, the words clipped.

“Of course it’s possible,” he pressed, gleefully keeping his expression gentle and peaceful. “You put him just down the hall. Just walk me down there, or better yet, bring him here so I don’t accidentally trip on anything.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

Shuusuke’s smile sharpened. He hated being called ‘sir’, especially by these people. “Why?” he pressed, letting an edge creep into his previously pleasant voice. “You have our Powers catalogued; you watch us constantly; you even have Power-suppressing handcuffs for when you transport us into Exile. We are completely at your mercy, and yet you still deny us the comfort of being able to speak to each other. Why?”

“The contract …”

“The contract,” he snapped, interrupting her pathetic excuse, “states that we are to be confined but that we are not to be abused in any way. If anything, forced solitary confinement like this is a violation of the contract!”

He knew he couldn’t win. Yelling at his handler wouldn’t bring any change. He would need time and legal help for that, neither of which he had. But he needed to vent his frustration on someone, and she was as good a target as any. He had been such a placid and easy charge for the past nine months; it felt good to shake up her world like this.

“I am sorry, sir,” she said, and he could hear the suppressed fear in her voice, “but I cannot allow you to leave except for family visits, nor can I allow anyone else to enter for any reason.”

So, she was afraid of him. Good.

“I see,” he replied, letting the anger drain out of his voice. “I suppose I’m nothing but a caged animal to you.” When she did not respond, he added, “Or maybe something else. Perhaps, I am a monster.”

He opened his eyes.

When Shuusuke was young, his mother always used to say he had the prettiest eyes. She would praise their color, their shape, the way the sun would catch them just so, or the way they sparkled when he smiled. She used to say that when he grew up, they would be a weapon, piercing girls’ hearts left and right.

His handler backed away, her light flickering with the strength of her emotions.

Yuuta had told him just how ugly his eyes were now. Frightening, he had said. A bit sickening.

A weapon, indeed.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, sweetly. Sugared malice dripped from every word. “Is that really how you see us?”

He couldn’t threaten her, couldn’t make any move that might even hint at using his Power on her. If he did, half a dozen guards would be on him in seconds and he’d spend the next month in one of the regular cells that they had for any Cursed who didn’t turn themselves in willingly. But he could enjoy the way her breaths shook, the shuffling of her body as she tried to pull herself together in the face of his empty, staring eyes. Oh yes, he could _savor_ that.

When she spoke, he could hear the desperation that she was trying so hard to hide. “Do you require anything else, sir?”

Shuusuke counted to ten, drawing it out as long as he dared. Then, he closed his eyes and turned away, snapping the tension in the room like a rubber band pulled past its limit. “No,” he said, sounding almost bored. “I don’t. You can go.”

His handler positively fled, the outer door slamming and locking behind her. Shuusuke sighed and crossed to the small cactus that sat on his dresser. Gently, his fingers glided over the wood surface until they found what he was looking for. He picked it up and crossed again to the ficus where he lowered himself carefully to the floor.

It was going to be a long month. The Cursed down the hall had triggered his protective side, a feat that was hard to do but produced overwhelming results. Yuuta could attest to that. Shuusuke knew that he was going to worry until he could talk to the new arrival, but unfortunately, sending one’s voice via wind took precision and was not something he could do for someone else. As much as he didn’t like it, conversation would have to wait until Exile.

He could, however, comfort the young man, or at the very least, he could try.

Gently, Shuusuke wet his lips and then, summoning a light breeze to carry the sound down the hall, lifted the wooden flute and began to play.

xXx

Mu Siyang sat ramrod straight in his chair, chin high, hands lightly resting on his knees. On the other side of the table, his advisor perused his potential schedule with a frown. Every so often, the man would look over at Siyang, but he simply waited patiently for the other to finish, his face carefully blank.

Several minutes later, his advisor put the stack of papers down with a sigh and removed his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You know I can’t approve this,” he said tiredly. “This course load is nearly twice that of a normal student.”

“I’ll be fine,” Siyang said calmly.

“You’ll burn out,” the man across from him stated with conviction, staring at him as he replaced his glasses.

Siyang frowned, annoyed at the implication that he would make a plan he couldn’t achieve. “I respectfully disagree.”

“Siyang,” his advisor sighed, “you are an extremely intelligent young man. I daresay one of the brightest students in this school. However, there is a reason why these course tracks are designed the way they are.” He tapped the papers idly with one finger. “You’re not the first student who has brought me a plan like this one. I even agreed to a few who I thought would be able to handle it.” The disapproving stare returned as he said, “They all burned out. A couple even dropped out completely. So you see, I can’t in good conscience allow this.”

Frustration and a small flare of anger reared up in Siyang’s chest, but he smothered both as he replied, “Forgive me, sir, but I don’t see why I should be punished for other people’s failings. I know my own abilities and my own limits, and I am perfectly capable of maintaining that schedule.”

“To what end?” the older man challenged, his face serious. “The established schedule, or even a slightly accelerated one, gets you to the same goal with far less stress on your mental and emotional health. Why would you risk your dreams and what is sure to be an illustrious career for some small bit of worthless glory?”

Siyang had opened his mouth to protest that his plan was not a risk, but he paused as his advisor finished his sentence. “Glory?” he asked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“The glory of being the youngest starship captain in history, of course,”

Siyang blinked. He had never even considered that aspect, although thinking about it now, it did seem likely that following his plan would have that particular side effect. Slowly, still a bit dazed, he stated, “That is not my intention.”

The man across from him paused, his expression softening as Siyang’s obvious shock filtered through to him. “Then what is?” he asked. “Why would you do this to yourself if not for that?”

“I …” Siyang hesitated. He had absolutely no desire to discuss something so personal with this man, but without some form of explanation, his entire plan would be shot down. “I made a promise,” he began vaguely. “It’s not something I can easily fulfill. In fact, I may never be able to fulfill it, but if I want the greatest chance of keeping my promise, I need to get into space as quickly as possible.”

He left out the fact that he had only made that promise to his own heart. Even though he cherished it as deeply as if he had said the words to Dayong’s face, he knew there was no guarantee that they would find Jiale, even if they looked for the rest of their lives. Siyang would never make an external promise that he didn’t know if he could keep, but an internal one? Those he was very familiar with. He made internal promises to himself all the time, and they kept him pushing forward, always seeking, always achieving. However, this was the first time he had made an internal promise on someone else’s behalf. The fire it lit within him was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Meeting his advisor’s eyes with determination, he declared, “I can do this, sir. At the very least, let me try. If it turns out that you are correct and it is too much for me, we can always revise it. I swear that I will not drop out.”

The other man regarded him carefully for a moment, then sighed and shook his head lightly. “Fine,” he conceded. “But I want to meet with you regularly so I can make sure you’re not overdoing it.”

Confident in his own abilities, Siyang readily agreed.

Thirty minutes later, Siyang emerged from the locker rooms and headed towards the tennis courts for a little light practice. His meeting with his advisor hadn’t been stressful, per se, but he had left the office with a mild desire to hit things and so he would. In a constructive way, of course.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that He Xinglong was already on the courts, hitting a ball against one of the practice walls. As members of the same club, they had interacted occasionally, but Siyang doubted either would consider the other a friend. In truth, Siyang would likely have listed Dayong as his only real friend here at school. Possibly Zhiming, although sometimes Siyang wondered if the future scientist saw him more as a friend or as a potential research subject. Unlike some people who needed an army of friends to feel happy with themselves, Siyang was quite content with the few he had, and yet, the more he came to know of Xinglong, the more he found himself thinking he wouldn’t mind adding one more to that small number.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked as he came up beside the other young man.

“Oh! Siyang!” Xinglong cried, pausing in his practice. He grinned, completely ignoring the fact that his ball had just bounced past him and was well on its way to the other side of the court. “Not at all! Go right ahead.”

Siyang thanked him as Xinglong dug a second ball out of his pocket, evidently deciding to chase down his original ball later. Side by side, they began hitting their respective balls against the wall.

After about five minutes of silence broken only by the smack of the ball against the wall and their rackets, Xinglong said, “You’re not usually here at this time. Is everything all right?”

Siyang smiled privately to himself. This was one of the reasons why he liked the other man. He was observant and exceedingly kind-hearted.

“I just had a meeting with my advisor,” he replied. “He agreed to what I wanted, but it took some persuading. I came here to work off some of my frustration.” He smacked the ball with a little extra power for emphasis.

To his surprise, Xinglong groaned a bit. “I have to do that soon, too,” he said. “I am not looking forward to it.”

“Why is that?” Siyang asked, genuinely confused. “You are in the ambassadorial track, correct? I would think that your course requirements are fairly straightforward.”

Instead of answering, Xinglong caught his ball and simply stood there, gazing down at the ground. Concerned, Siyang quickly caught his as well and turned to the man beside him.

“Xinglong?”

Xinglong’s head came up with a smile so fake that Siyang had to suppress a wince. “It’s nothing!” he lied. “And anyway, you came here to practice, not to listen to my problems. So let’s practice!”

He turned in preparation, but Siyang caught his wrist before he could start his first swing. “Don’t be foolish,” he said to the surprised eyes that looked at him. “I doubt I am your first choice for a sympathetic listener, but I am here and I am willing to provide any advice I can offer.”

Xinglong stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed in what could have been defeat. He took a step backwards, Siyang releasing his wrist as he did so, and tucked his ball back into his pocket. “I’m dropping out of the ambassadorial track,” he admitted. “I thought it was what I wanted to do, but the more classes I take, the more I realize that it’s not the right fit for me.”

Siyang nodded. “That’s understandable,” he reasoned, “and quite common. Many students switch majors partially through.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure what I want to do instead,” Xinglong sighed. He began to absentmindedly spin his racket in his hand. “I know that ambassadorial work isn’t a good fit for me, but I don’t know what _is_.”

“I see.” Unsure how to respond, Siyang found a spot on the wall to stare at while he thought. He didn’t know the other young man well enough to suggest something, but he felt like he should at least offer some advice. Unfortunately, he had nothing to fall back on in terms of personal experience. He had always known what he wanted out of life.

“Maybe I should just go home and take over the family business. That would make my dad happy.”

The tired tone in Xinglong’s voice brought Siyang’s eyes to him immediately, and he knew the answer to his question before he asked it. “But would it make you happy?”

The man next to him shrugged as if that didn’t matter. “I enjoy cooking,” he replied. “I don’t think I’d like the management aspect of the restaurant business, but I could always hire someone to do that.”

Not at all convinced, Siyang returned to his examination of the wall. “What drew you to the ambassadorial track in the first place?” he asked.

“Well,” Xinglong responded, “I’ve always loved helping people. And in high school, whenever my friends had disagreements, I always ended up mediating them. I thought being an ambassador would be a good way to use those skills, but …” He trailed off, his shoulders slumping.

“But you found that it doesn’t suit you as well as you thought,” Siyang finished for him. When Xinglong nodded sadly, he added as an encouragement, “Well, better that you discover that now than several years later when you’re already fully committed to that career.”

“That’s true, I guess,” Xinglong conceded. He met Siyang’s eyes, the ghost of his usual smile creeping into his lips.

Encouraged by his companion’s improved mood, Siyang tipped his head at the nearest court and said, “Come on. Let’s rally while we brainstorm.”

“But I’ve already taken up enough of your practice time!” Xinglong protested even as he followed after Siyang who had begun striding away.

“You’re the one who pointed out that this is not a time I usually practice,” Siyang easily returned. “If anything, I should be apologizing for taking up your time.”

“What? No. Um … it’s fine, really!”

Sliding into place on the far side of the court, Siyang sent a ball over the net, pleased by the way Xinglong sent it back while still distracted. They rallied for a bit, conversation giving way to concentration in spite of Siyang’s initial intent. On its own, his mind wandered back to that morning and the expression of worry and sadness that Dayong had worn. His roommate had dreamed of being arrested, of being put in a cell and left to cry alone. The frustration and the sense of helplessness had visibly flooded his friend, spilling over to infect Siyang as well. It burned as it crawled through him, curling around his heart and throat.

Siyang smacked the ball harshly, unintentionally making Xinglong run to receive it. It would take at least six years. Six years of hard, focused work, and even then he would need luck to hit all of the milestones he had laid out. His final one would be especially tricky. Achieving the rank of captain wouldn’t be hard and even getting a ship to command was something Siyang believed he could accomplish without too much trouble. He didn’t just want a ship and a rank, though. He wanted a reputation that would allow him to hand-pick his entire command staff so that his entire crew could be focused on fulfilling his primary mission. He already had his doctor and after tonight would likely have his science officer, but there were still so many roles to fill. And Siyang didn’t want just anyone. He wanted the best. He wanted people he could trust. He wanted a loyal, tightly-knit team who would continue with the mission should anything happen to him.

Across the net, Xinglong sent the ball flying in his direction. Siyang returned it, his mind considering. It didn’t take long to reach a decision.

“What are you doing tonight after dinner?” he called.

Xinglong startled a bit at the unexpected question but returned the ball easily. “Nothing,” he replied. “Just some homework.”

Siyang nodded, continuing the rally almost without thinking. “Good. Come to my room at 7:00. Dayong has something to say, and I’d like you to be there, too.”

The other young man looked thoroughly confused, but he agreed anyway. “Um, okay,” he said with a lopsided smile. “Did you still want to brainstorm?”

“Yes,” Siyang replied, certain in his decision. Giving the other man a small smile of encouragement, he continued, “There are lots of ways to help people. Let’s figure out which one is best for you.”

As Xinglong beamed at him, Siyang quickly ran through his mental checklist. Somewhere, somehow, there was a place for Xinglong. He just knew it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IMPORTANT!** This story has been changed from a one-shot to a multi-chapter, and therefore the previous chapter has been modified. If you have not read Chapter One, please go back and do so. Thanks!

  
Dayong sat at his desk, homework forgotten, and stared at the marking on his arm. The worry in his heart consumed him. All he could see when he closed his eyes were the bars. His ears still rang with the sound of the door clanging shut, the click of the lock as the key was turned behind him. His heart hurt with the echoes of fear and grief.

If only he understood what was going on. Jiale had been arrested, but the whole process made no sense to Dayong. Jiale’s own father had called the authorities on him, but when they had arrived, they had been polite and respectful, allowing Jiale to pack a single bag of clothing and keepsakes. When they had arrived at the jail, things had only gotten more confusing. Rather than being cuffed and booked, Jiale had been interviewed and escorted to what could have been mistaken for a hotel room if not for the bars on the window and door. The woman who had accompanied him had even asked what types of books he liked to read and had promised to bring a few by the next day.

Gently, Dayong traced the dark vines that curved along his wrist with his thumb. What was going to happen now? Would there be a trial? What for? As far as he knew, his dream partner had done nothing wrong. Was Jiale’s life in danger? If so, what would happen to Dayong if he died? Would he go to sleep one night and watch as death took him? Would he wake up after that or would he die as well? Would he even want to wake up knowing that the other young man had been taken from him?

Dayong felt a lump start to form in his throat; he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fist to will it away. This was all Siyang’s fault. Back when his dreams were just something strange that his mind had concocted, he had been able to view Jiale’s occasional failures and heartbreaks with a detached air of gentle concern. If his partner felt pain or sadness, Dayong could sympathize without being personally involved, like watching a character in a movie or television show. But now that there was the very real possibility that Jiale was an actual person, that he somehow was connected to that person even across untold miles, Dayong’s heart screamed in unison with Jiale’s. As if they were side by side. As if they were one. When Dayong thought that he might never see through Jiale’s eyes again …

Voices in the hall alerted him moments before the door to the room opened with a small click. Taking a quiet breath, Dayong smoothed out his face and shifted in his chair to face it as Siyang entered, followed by their friend Yan Zhiming. The scientist, he noted, had one of his ever-present notebooks tucked under his arm.

“Hello, Siyang,” he greeted. “Ah Yan.”

“Good evening,” Zhiming replied politely while his roommate merely nodded at him.

Crossing the room, Siyang dropped onto his bed, motioning to his desk while he did so. “Have a seat,” he told Zhiming. “We’re just waiting on one other.”

“We are?” Dayong asked, surprised. As far as he knew, Zhiming was the only one they had asked to come over tonight.

“Yes,” the other man answered as if this were common knowledge. “I asked He Xinglong to join us as well.”

“He Xinglong?” Dayong echoed. “From the tennis club?”

“Yes. I thought he would make a useful addition to our group.” Turning his head, Siyang finally seemed to register Dayong’s shock and confusion. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softening. “I should have checked with you first. Is that okay?” When Dayong didn’t answer immediately, he began to dig his phone out of his pocket, saying, “I can tell him not to come.”

“No,” Dayong interrupted him, recovering himself. “No, that’s okay.” He gave his friend a smile as he said, “I don’t mind. Just warn me next time.”

Siyang nodded, apologizing again. Truly, Dayong didn’t mind the addition. He liked He Xinglong well enough. Plus, he had seen the look in his roommate’s eyes; Siyang was once again thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and a moment later He Xinglong entered, looking flushed and panting as if he had just run all the way to their dorm.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” he cried.

“It’s fine,” Dayong assured him with a smile. “It’s not like this is a formal meeting. Here, sit down.” He stood to offer the other young man his chair. Xinglong sank into it gratefully as Dayong moved to stand against the wall.

Once they both had settled, Zhiming gently cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses before saying, “Now that we are all here, perhaps, Dayong, you can tell us why you wished to speak with us. Siyang informed me that it would be worth my time to attend.”

“Yes.” Dayong lowered his gaze, a nervousness creeping up on him. He suddenly wished he had spent a little more time figuring out exactly what he was going to say. There was also the fact that he wasn’t completely convinced Zhiming wouldn’t try to turn him into a lab rat. Trying not to stammer, he began, “So I … have a secret, of sorts. One that I recently shared with Siyang, and he suggested that I share it with you as well. Although, I’d rather it not become common knowledge, so I would appreciate it if what I’m about to say doesn’t leave the room.”

“Of course!” Xinglong agreed immediately, his face supportive. “Whatever it is, you can trust us. Right, Zhiming?” He turned his head to look at the other man.

Zhiming, however, merely sighed and closed the notebook that he had opened in preparation. In a bored voice, he stated, “If you are intending to discuss your orientation or something of the like, I’m afraid I’m not the slightest bit interested and would prefer not to be informed.”

Dayong’s mouth fell open in shock, but before he could protest, Siyang was doing it for him. “Do you really think I would waste your time with something like that?” he asked, giving the scientist a dry look. “Just give Dayong your word and trust me.”

“Very well,” Zhiming replied after a short pause. He returned his attention to Dayong although he kept the notebook closed. “I assure you I will keep this discussion to myself,” he said. “You may proceed.”

With the focus now back on him, Dayong took a deep breath and decided to just go for it. “Well, the short version is this: for the past five years, I’ve been having dreams where I’m someone else, and yesterday this --” He held out his right arm to show off the mark. “-- appeared out of nowhere. Siyang thinks and I agree that somehow I have a psychic connection with an alien being on an undiscovered planet.” He caught his roommate’s eye briefly as he finished, “I’m not sure why Siyang wanted me to share this with you, but he did and so I am.”

For a beat, no one moved. Then, Zhiming’s notebook flew open and, with his pen poised and practically trembling, he demanded, “Explain. Start at the beginning. Leave nothing out.”

For the next twenty minutes or so, Dayong went over all the details he could remember about his strange dreams. Zhiming interrupted him occasionally with questions, many of which he couldn’t answer. Xinglong and Siyang sat silent through it all, the former in a state of shock, the latter just observing. By the time Dayong had finished, the scientist had filled at least half a dozen pages of his notebook with his small, precise writing, and he was grinning in an unnerving way.

“You must keep a journal for me,” he ordered, the overhead light glinting off of his glasses. “Record every last detail, no matter how insignificant it may appear.”

“Okay,” Dayong agreed, half-heartedly. “I doubt it will be very interesting, though. Like I said, he’s been arrested.”

“Um, excuse me … ?”

Dayong turned his head to see Xinglong raising his hand slightly as if trying to get their attention. When he saw that he had it, he said, “This is all really fascinating, and I can understand why you wanted to tell Zhiming about it, but why did you ask me to come? Not that I don’t appreciate you trusting me,” he added hurriedly. “I’m just not sure why.”

In response, Siyang sat up straighter and uncrossed his legs to set both feet on the floor, bringing with that one move all of the room’s attention directly to him. In a steady, even voice he began, “Due to the technology present in Dayong’s dreams, I was able to narrow down the list of currently known alien races, and none of those have any mention in their laws or culture regarding an appearing mark on the skin. Based on this, I believe we can safely conclude that Jiale, as Dayong has named him, belongs to an undiscovered race.” He paused, giving them a look that stole Dayong’s breath. “I intend to discover it.

“To do so,” he continued before any of them could reply, “I will need men under my command whom I can trust. Dayong will be my ship’s doctor. Ah Yan, I assume you will be content with the position of Chief Science Officer?”

“Of course,” Zhiming answered, adjusting his glasses primly. “I had intended to focus more on research, but this is far too interesting an opportunity to pass up. I shall adjust my course schedule appropriately.”

Siyang waved a hand at him, saying, “We can discuss that in more depth later.” His gaze shifted to the last of them, and he smiled softly. “That leaves you, Xinglong.”

“Me?” Xinglong echoed, surprised. “You want me on your crew?”

“I do,” Siyang told him. In a brisker tone, he continued, “A fair number of your credits should transfer into the ranked officer track, so the shift in major shouldn’t delay your graduation. And may I suggest you specialize in security?”

The dazed look on Xinglong’s face sharpened as the other man’s final words registered. “Security,” he repeated, considering it. “That’s … that’s actually a really good idea.” A sudden smile exploded across his face, and he looked up, laughing. “All right, Siyang. I’m in!”

Siyang nodded at him, pleased.

“A question,” Zhiming said as he closed his notebook. “What if someone else discovers this race before we are able to?”

Dayong blinked. He hadn’t really considered that possibility, but it could certainly happen. Exploration ships went out on missions all the time. In the several years it would take them to finish their training, other crews would likely discover at least one new race. It was just as likely to be Jiale’s as any other.

Siyang responded as if he had already thought of all this; knowing him, he likely had. “Then we will visit. After that, you can go your own ways, or you can stay with me and I will find us another objective to work towards. Uniting Dachi with Jiale is the ultimate goal here. Finding him is simply a prerequisite.”

As the other two nodded their agreement, Dayong felt his heart swelling. He wrapped his fingers around the mark on his arm and brought it up to cradle it against his chest.

 _Hang on, Jiale_ , he thought with a smile. _We’re coming to find you._

xXx

Eiji woke to the sound of his cell door opening. Blearily, he watched as his handler placed his breakfast on the floor and slid it below the bars into his room. She had done this every morning for over a month, but today was different. Today he was going into Exile.

Seeing that his eyes were on her, the woman nodded politely and said, “I will be back in half an hour. Please be ready to go by then.” Then she turned and left, the outer door closing and locking behind her.

Slowly, his body moving with a kind of dull resignation, Eiji climbed out of bed and began to get changed. He shoved his nightclothes into the laundry chute, and the rest of the clothes the holding center had given him -- plain but comfortable -- followed soon after. For the first time since setting foot in this place, he dressed in his own clothes, returned to him by his handler the night before. He noted idly that his pants were a bit loose; he had apparently lost weight in spite of their regular feeding.

The thought of food reminded Eiji of his waiting breakfast, and he sighed as he turned his attention to the tray. He wasn’t at all hungry, his nerves making a mess of his stomach, but he didn’t know how long the flight would be or if they would be fed along the way. With this in mind, he picked at his food, forcing himself to eat at least half of it. If only the mysterious musician would play right now, he thought to himself. That would surely give him enough courage to get through this morning. But he was likely preparing for the trip as well and wouldn’t have time to play for Eiji’s sake. At least Eiji assumed the music came from a fellow Cursed; the other people here wouldn’t have bothered.

Whoever that other Cursed was, though, he wasn’t the man in Eiji’s dreams. No, his dream counterpart still walked free, and Eiji wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Part of him was exceedingly jealous and upset that he was being forced into Exile while the other man was not, but in reality, he was mostly just sad and worried. Sad because it would have been so much nicer to go into Exile together, and worried because, even though there were no laws concerning getting a Mark after turning twenty-one, eventually someone would find out and then the other man would be in trouble. Honestly, Eiji couldn’t understand why the man hadn’t simply turned himself in. All it would take is one doctor visit -- or one of his friends coming to their senses -- and it would all be over.

Just as Eiji pushed away the tray, unable to eat another bite, the outer door opened again. His handler stepped into the entryway, accompanied this time by a stone-faced guard. Two more stood in the hallway behind them. Eiji couldn’t see it, but he knew they were armed.

His handler smiled at him, that sweet, fake smile that always made him feel a little sick. “You’re ready,” she noted. “Good. Here, put these on and then stand up, please.” She bent and slipped a pair of handcuffs under the bars.

Sighing, Eiji picked them up. They were padded at least, and the chain between the cuffs was fairly long. Considering they weren’t primarily for restraint, it made sense. His mind blank, Eiji snapped a cuff around one wrist, then the other. He supposed this was the point where a normal Cursed would feel their Power draining away or something. Eiji, however, having nothing but his stupid dreams, felt nothing.

He stood as instructed, and a moment later, the guard opened the inner cell door. His handler turned, beckoning him to follow, and walked into the hallway. As he stepped out of the room, the guards in the hallway fell into step on either side and the one left behind brought up the rear. Surrounded on all sides, Eiji began his walk down the hallway towards the elevator that would take them to the ground floor and the landing strip.

When they boarded the plane, Eiji noted with surprise that the interior had been divided into several sections. Each section only had four seats, two on each side, with a large amount of space both in front and behind the seats. The sections were separated from each other by metal walls with a single door, each of which currently stood open but which would likely close when they took off. Two people already occupied the first section: a guard who stood by the door leading further into the plane, and a bored-looking young man sitting in a window seat.

“Keep moving, please,” someone said in Eiji’s ear as he continued to look about. Startled, he looked back to find that only one guard remained with him. The other two guards and his handler had both left. This one likely had been assigned to him, just as the guard already on the plane had likely been assigned to the other young man.

“S-sorry!” he stammered, moving forward again. The guard nodded at him politely and followed.

He had barely taken two steps, however, when the bored young man suddenly stood and placed himself in the aisle between the seats, effectively blocking Eiji’s way. He crossed his arms over his chest, chain between the handcuffs clinking lightly, and inclined his head in the direction of the seats to Eiji’s right. “Sit down over here,” he said, his expression unreadable.

Instantly, both guards subtly sharpened their attention. “I’m sorry, sir,” the one by the door said, “but as I explained to you before, each of you will be in a separate compartment for this trip.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the unknown Cursed replied, and Eiji tensed as he saw the other young man’s face morph into an expression of smug amusement. “In fact, I think the three of us will be spending the trip here in this compartment by ourselves while the rest of you will head to the back of the plane and chill out there.”

The guard to Eiji’s rear scoffed as the other one strode over to stand behind the other Cursed. “Please move, sir,” he said, and his voice had gone cold. “If you do not, I will be forced to make you.”

The Cursed did not even turn to face him as he said, “Oh please do! And make sure you leave a nice, fat bruise that I can show to everyone in Exile to let them know that you broke the contract.”

In the ensuing silence, the young man tipped his head again and repeated, “Sit down.” This time, Eiji obeyed, if for nothing else, to get the hell out of the way.

“Looks like you’re finally starting to understand,” the Cursed continued once Eiji had settled. “You guys lost all power over us once the sun rose this morning. You loom and threaten and try to look big, but you can’t lay a finger on us at the risk of starting a war. And now that we’re on our way out of here, you can’t threaten to stick us in a different cell or take away our food or amenities. Even with our Powers sealed like this, you have no control over us.” He grinned, his eyes glinting slightly. “So, like I said, we’ll be sitting here. You guys will be in the back.”

The two guards had remained frozen in shock, but now Eiji’s guard revived with a low growl. “Well then, maybe I’ll just throw you _back_ in your cell! And I’ll make sure to teach you a lesson about who’s really in charge here!”

Eiji cringed at the threat, but the other Cursed just rolled his eyes. “Ugh,” he sighed, “you guys really are nothing but giant bags of hot air, aren’t you?”

“ _What!?_ ”

“What Yuuta means,” a third voice interjected, coming from the front of the plane, “is that the Exiled community is expecting three Cursed today and if you don’t show up at the designated time with all three of us in perfect condition, you will likely start a war.”

Eiji turned his head to the new speaker and saw yet another guard with a young man who was pleasantly smiling at all of them, his eyes closed. This new stranger stepped forward and, using his hands to guide him, settled into the window seat on the other side of the aisle from Eiji.

All three guards now looked like they were going to be sick. The one who had threatened to take them back to their cells turned on the new arrival and tried to salvage the situation by asking, “How do you know they’re waiting for you over there? For all they know, there were no new Cursed this year.”

“Oh, they know,” the smiling young man said, a definite lilt to his voice. “They know because you told them the same day we came in and were registered. You see,” he continued, speaking as if to a child, “about twenty years ago, many of the terms concerning interactions between the Cursed and the rest of the world were changed. One of those changes included notifying them of every new arrival you have. So they know exactly how many are coming, what our names are, what Powers we have, and so on.”

“You know,” the other man -- Yuuta -- commented, “pretty much all of those changes benefit the Cursed community in some way. It’s almost as if there are some very powerful Cursed over there right now, and the rest of the world wants to keep them as happy as possible.”

The guard by the front of the plane choked, and a moment later, the three guards were huddled by the entrance to the cockpit along with two more guards who had arrived at some point during the discussion. While they muttered amongst themselves, Yuuta uncrossed his arms and leaned an elbow onto the back of the seats, staring down at the young man whose eyes were still closed.

“Get out of my seat, Shuu,” he said flatly.

“Shuu” turned a stricken expression on him. “You’re not going to let me have the window seat?” he asked sadly.

“What the hell are you going to do with a window seat?” Yuuta snapped in reply.

“Look for birds?”

Before Yuuta could properly express the immense frustration that was clearly building in him, the circle of guards broke up, and one of them came forward. “All right,” he said, frowning at them in an obvious attempt to look intimidating, “you three can sit here together, but one of us will stay with you, and the rest will be in the next compartment.”

As far as Eiji was concerned, that sounded like a good compromise. The other two, however, clearly disagreed.

“Oh dear,” Shuu said, sighing lightly. “It seems you still don’t understand the situation, do you? Let me repeat it for you: You have zero control over the situation. You cannot give orders. You cannot negotiate. You will do exactly as we say, or there will be consequences.”

“Consequences?” one of the other guards scoffed. “What are you planning on doing? We sealed your Powers.”

Yuuta actually laughed at that. “I don’t need Powers to kick your asses,” he said, grinning again. “Especially since you can’t fight back. As long as we keep the pilot in good shape, we can do whatever we want with the rest of you and we won’t violate the contract.”

“And you’ve given us such lovely chains to work with,” Shuu added, lifting up his hands and pulling them apart until the chain went taut between them. “I wonder,” he continued, dreamily, “will you be willing to hold still while I slip this around your neck and pull? Or will you fight back and risk a war that will likely wipe out everyone in this facility and their families?” He sighed and lowered his hands as he finished, “Well, in any case, I suggest that anyone who does not wish to be strangled head to the back of the plane immediately. Yuuta will shut the doors behind you.”

For a beat, no one moved. Eiji held his breath, the silence ringing in his ears. Then, one by one, the guards filed out of the compartment towards the back of the plane. Yuuta threw him a grin before following them, and a minute later, clangs began to ring out as he shut each of the doors. Once he had returned to the first compartment and shut the door behind him, he wandered up to the cockpit, stuck his head in for a moment, and then returned to the seats.

“Okay, we’re set to go,” he announced. He crossed his arms over his chest again and glared down at the man in his seat. “Move. I’m not kidding.”

The smiling man sighed dramatically but shifted to the other seat, using his hands to guide him again. Eiji noted his eyes remained closed, and he had begun to suspect the reason why. There were more pressing questions to be answered, though, and now that he was no longer scared senseless, they were clawing at his throat, begging to be let out.

“What just happened?” he cried. “How did you do all of that? Do you two know each other? Did you coordinate that? _How_ did you coordinate that?”

Shuu just laughed at him. “So many questions!” he commented brightly. “Perhaps we should start with introductions first.” He smiled and extended his hand. “Fuji Shuusuke. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Eiji switched into the aisle seat so he could reach and shook the other’s hand. “Kikumaru Eiji,” he replied. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“This is my brother, Fuji Yuuta,” Shuusuke said, indicating the man beside him. Yuuta threw Eiji a wave before turning to look out the window, his part in this conversation clearly over.

Eiji’s mouth fell open. “Your brother?” he echoed, but before he could say more, the plane began to move. Surprised, he scrambled to fasten his seatbelt. Once he was satisfied with his own safety, he turned back to his companion. “You two are brothers?” he asked. “Are you twins?” They didn’t look very much alike, but he supposed they could be fraternal twins.

However, Shuusuke shook his head. “No. Yuuta is a year younger than I am. And before you ask, no, his Mark hasn’t appeared yet. He turned himself in early so we could go together.” He leaned a little closer and whispered conspiratorially, “He worries about me.”

“No, I don’t,” Yuuta groused, not bothering to turn his head.

Eiji bit his lip a little, considering. “Two Cursed in one family. Has that happened before?”

“A handful of times,” Shuusuke answered, “and you were right that most of them were twins. Based on the research we did, Yuuta and I are only the second pair of brothers of different ages who were both Cursed.” He grinned as he added, “Guess we’re just lucky.”

 _Or unlucky_ , Eiji thought to himself, but something else the other man had said caught his attention more. “Research. Is that how you knew everything you did about the contract and all that other stuff?”

“Yup!” Shuusuke replied happily. Then, his expression turned pensive as he said, “I’m honestly surprised no one else seemed to have done this before. Does no one bother to do any preparation before they come here? Were we the only ones?”

“Not everyone is as devious as you are, Shuu,” Yuuta commented in a dry tone.

Shuusuke looked as if he were about to protest this, but then he smiled as if deciding it was a compliment instead. “True,” he said with a nod.

“Did you two plan all of this before you came here?” Eiji asked, and when Shuusuke shook his head, he continued, “Then how did you do it? You were separated, right? How could you -- ?”

His voice died away as he felt a small breeze pass by his face. It wasn’t much, but in the sealed off airplane, the air shouldn’t have moved at all. Comprehension dawning, he gazed into the elder Fuji’s smiling face.

“Wind Powers,” the other young man confirmed. “Yuuta and I both have them. We were separated, but we were never cut off from each other.” His face turned sad as he added, “I’m sorry I never spoke to you, but there would have been no way for you to speak back. Plus, I didn’t want to scare you with a random voice out of nowhere.”

“It’s fine,” Eiji told him, his heart swelling. “Thank you for your music. You have no idea how much comfort it brought me.”

“Good,” Shuusuke smiled. “I was hoping it would.” He settled back into his chair as he said, “So, Kikumaru Eiji, tell me about yourself.”

Eiji squirmed, not enjoying being put on the spot. “There isn’t much to tell,” he hedged. “I’m just an ordinary guy.”

Shuusuke raised an eyebrow at him, an odd-looking gesture when his eyes were closed. “Is that so?” he queried. “Has there been a mistake then? Are you actually not Cursed?”

“N-no, I am,” Eiji answered. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Now Yuuta was interested as well, having turned to face them.

His face flaring, Eiji decided to bite the bullet and just explain. The Fuji brothers listened politely as he described his dreams, only interrupting a few times to ask clarifying questions. It hurt to have to relive the morning of his birthday, but the sympathetic expressions on his new friends’ faces helped a bit.

“That is very interesting,” Shuusuke commented when he had finished.

“No, it _isn’t_ ,” Eiji protested, kicking his feet a bit. “They’re just dumb dreams. They’re not even prophetic or anything.” He slumped in his chair, pouting. “I had hoped they weren’t a Power,” he admitted. “That they were just a weird coincidence. But then the Mark showed up, and there went that.”

“They’re definitely a Power,” Shuusuke commented, “and a strong one at that.”

“How would you know?” Eiji grumbled.

“Astral vision,” Shuusuke replied, so carelessly that Eiji sputtered in shock. Smiling merrily, he continued, “While wind is my main Power, for some reason I ended up with a second one. I lost my regular sight in exchange for being able to see on the Astral plane instead.”

“So you weren’t born blind?” Eiji asked gently. He didn’t want to cross any lines he wasn’t supposed to cross, but he was also extremely curious.

Shuusuke didn’t seem to mind. “Nope,” he answered, shaking his head. “I woke up on my sixteenth birthday just fine. Over the course of the day, the world slowly went dark, and by the time I went to bed, I couldn’t see anything. My second sight gradually came in over the next month or so.”

Eiji swallowed hard. That sounded awful. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it would have been to suddenly go blind. True, the Astral sight probably helped him move around, but Eiji doubted it was the same as being able to see the world around him, being able to see his loved ones’ faces.

Across the aisle, Shuusuke tipped his head to the side and commented, “You’ve gone quiet. Are you pitying me? That isn’t necessary.”

Yuuta rejoined the conversation at that, saying, “Seriously, Shuu is even more terrifying now than he was before. His eyes are so ugly that all he has to do is open them to scare the shit out of people.”

“Yuuta, language.”

“What, are you Mother now? I’m a freaking adult, and I’ll swear if I want to.”

Eiji suppressed a laugh and turned away to hide his smile. Listening to the two of them bicker reminded him of the fights he would get into with his brothers. As much as it hurt to remember them, it was also a comfort to have such a normal family occurrence happening in this unknown setting. And as much as Shuusuke teased and Yuuta grumbled, it was clear to see they loved each other fiercely.

“But we’ve gotten off topic!” Shuusuke announced suddenly, bringing Eiji’s gaze back to him. The other young man turned his smile to him as he continued, “I want to hear more about Kikumaru’s mystery man.”

“There isn’t anything else to tell,” Eiji told him with a shrug.

“No? But we know so little,” Shuusuke protested, pouting slightly. “You haven’t even told us his name.”

“That’s because I don’t know what it is. I hear people calling him by it, but when I wake up, I’ve forgotten.”

“I see.” He paused, and Eiji suddenly got the strange feeling that he was being scrutinized. “Still,” Shuusuke said after a moment, “surely you call him something. You can’t tell me you’ve shared his life for five years and haven’t given him a name of some sort.”

Eiji lowered his gaze to his hands. Gently, he rubbed his thumb over the Mark on his wrist. It didn’t feel like sharing a life, more like observing without permission, but Shuusuke was right all the same. After trying and failing to hold onto any of the names of the people in his dreams, Eiji had admitted defeat and just made them all up, like an author populating his list of characters. His partner’s roommate he had named Tezuka after a kid he had known in elementary school. Their dark-haired friend with glasses he had dubbed Inui after some villain he had seen on a TV show. This past month, he had whiled away time in his cell thinking on a name for the new friend who had appeared lately and had finally decided he seemed like a Kawamura.

Truth be told, Eiji was pretty proud of these names, plus the ones he had given to his partner’s family, high school friends, and teachers. After all, he had put in a fair amount of thought into each one and often had specific reasons why this person had received that particular name. His partner’s name, however, had required no thought at all. The moment Eiji decided to give up and name everyone himself, the name had just appeared in his head like it had been there all along. It fit his other self perfectly, and he had never once considered changing it.

Smiling gently, Eiji lifted his head to look at Shuusuke and said, “His name is Oishi.”

xXx

Yan Zhiming sat at the desk in his small dorm room, laptop before him, notes surrounding him, and considered the problem before him. Siyang had asked him to put together accelerated schedule plans for Dayong, Xinglong, and Zhiming himself. The goal was for the three of them to have finished all their necessary training by the time Siyang reached the rank of Captain. Zhiming had agreed, confident in his abilities.

His own plan had been easy. It had required a few modifications to include officer training, but he had already set an accelerated course for himself. Adding in an extra track was simple. Xinglong’s had also been fairly easy. A few summer courses would give him the extra credits he needed to get back on track, and then it would be a simple matter to get the man the experience he needed to run a ship’s security team in the time allotted. In fact, he and Xinglong would likely have some extra time to join some small missions, possibly even get promoted a few times so that Siyang wouldn’t have to set out with a team of Lieutenants behind him.

The problem, unfortunately, was Dayong. Six years just wasn’t enough time for him to get his Doctorate, much less any officer training. Zhiming had, regrettably, already decided to sacrifice that for the sake of the rest. Most ship doctors were ranked, but it wasn’t technically a requirement. Dayong would simply have to get his ship experience while on the job. However, that still left the problem of getting him qualified to be a ship’s doctor within the time limit.

As Zhiming perused course requirements and cross-checked them with a calendar, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Checking it revealed a new text message waiting for him. When he saw the identity of the sender, Zhiming considered ignoring it, but experience had taught him that doing so would cause the sender to subsequently inundate him with more until he acknowledged them.

Sighing, Zhiming opened up his messaging app.

 **GY:** It has come to my attention that you did not follow your customary training plan today. Are you perhaps ill?

His lips quirked at the corners. He knew better than to believe for even a second that the other man was at all concerned for his health.

 **YZ:** I am perfectly well, thank you. I simply had more pressing matters to attend to this afternoon.

His obligation fulfilled, Zhiming laid the phone aside and went back to examining courses. Dayong could theoretically stay in the same University for his post-graduate degree, but he would get a better and more thorough education if he transferred elsewhere. The risk there came from whether he would be accepted into the other school. Quickly, Zhiming ran some statistics on a few scenarios to help him decide whether the attempt to transfer would be feasible.

The screen on his phone lit up again, making him scowl at the continued interruption. Hadn’t he just said that he was busy? Still, he knew better than to refuse to engage in the conversation now. The quicker he accepted it, the quicker it would be over. He picked up his phone once again.

 **GY:** More pressing than training? Well, I suppose such a thing is possible. However, I hope this does not become a habit. It would reduce the satisfaction of destroying you in our next match if your skill were to degrade due to lack of practice.

Ah. Perhaps this unwanted conversation would not be so bad after all. Granted, Zhiming was not a cruel man, but he had to admit even he got a small sense of pleasure typing out his next response.

 **YZ:** I regret to inform you that I will no longer be competing in matches for the university. I have quit the tennis club in order to focus on other things. While our interactions were brief, I found them quite entertaining. I wish you luck in finding my replacement.

Despite the rather strong temptation to return to his task, he spent the next few minutes watching as the typing indicator appeared and disappeared repeatedly in the chat window. Eventually it stopped, only to be replaced by the shrill ringing of an incoming request for a video call. Zhiming smirked lightly. It would now be at least fifteen minutes before he could resume his work, but contrary to when this had all begun, he now felt that this interruption was worth the time it would take from him.

Smoothing out his expression, he thumbed the ‘Accept’ button and was instantly greeted by the lovely sight of Guan Yue’s utterly horrified face.

“What do you mean you’ve quit the tennis club??” his self-proclaimed rival near-shrieked at him.

“Are there multiple interpretations to that statement?” he replied evenly with a small adjustment of his glasses.

The other man scowled at him. “Do not attempt to be cute, Yan Zhiming. It is a pitiful endeavor.” When Zhiming only shrugged, he continued angrily, “I have been collecting data on you for years. _Years!_ And now you’re telling me that before I have the chance to get my revenge on you for all those earlier defeats, you’re going to just run away like a coward?”

“I hardly consider sacrificing an extra-curricular activity to spend more time on my studies to be ‘running away’,” Zhiming said with a small frown of his own. “I would remind you that, to me, tennis has never been more than that: an extra activity. I have no intention of going pro. If I had, I would have pursued that path after high school rather than waiting until after I acquired an undergraduate degree. I would also remind you that your decision to treat me as your personal rival was completely your own.”

Guan Yue looked like he wanted to reach through the phone lines and wrap his fingers around Zhiming’s neck, but alas technology had not yet advanced to the point where he could do so. “So,” he grumbled, “all of my data is worthless. All that time I spent, wasted.”

“I wouldn’t say entirely wasted,” Zhiming noted. “Any time used to improve one’s observational skills is time well spent.”

The other man did not seem the slightest bit convinced. The sound of pages turning filtered through the phone as he looked down and started mumbling to himself. A minute passed, filled with nothing but muttered percentages, but just as Zhiming moved to disconnect the call, he heard a name that made him pause and wait a little bit longer.

“Yes, he’ll have to do. No one else is skilled enough to be a worthy opponent. It will be difficult -- my data is currently incomplete -- but I should be able to manage it. I’ll have to sacrifice a few matches for the sake of data collection, but it will be worth it. Siyang is currently undefeated, after all. I shall break that streak and bring him down.”

Zhiming debated internally for five seconds, then decided that he didn’t have the heart to tell him. Instead, he gently cleared his throat before saying, “I will leave you to your new endeavor and return to mine.”

The other man’s head shot up, eyes blazing. “Don’t think this is the end of this, Yan Zhiming!” he growled. “I am not the type of man to give up just because of a small obstacle. I _will_ find a way to defeat you somehow. You haven’t heard the last from me.”

“I understand,” Zhiming replied calmly. He had absolutely no intention of interacting with Guan Yue again, but in the interest of getting the man off the phone, he added, “I look forward to it.”

Appeased, the other man nodded and abruptly ended the call, much to Zhiming’s relief. Suddenly tired, he laid his phone on the desk beside him and leaned back in his chair, eyes sliding shut. In reality, neither he nor any of the others planned to give up tennis entirely. They would no longer have the time to dedicate towards competitions, so they had quit the club to make room for others, but they all intended to keep playing as a form of exercise and stress relief. Guan Yue didn’t need to know that, though.

A small smile crept into Zhiming’s lips at the thought of Siyang ever voluntarily giving up tennis completely. Knowing the man, he was more likely to try to get tennis courts installed on his ship once he became a captain. Zhiming had already decided to keep his own data analyses tucked safely away for when that day came.

Opening his eyes, he sat up in his chair, ready to continue with his given task. Before he did that, though, there was one more thing left to do. Smiling to himself, he picked up his phone one last time and, after scrolling through his contacts for Guan Yue, cheerfully blocked the number.


End file.
